


Waiting

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1/Stargate Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel's always waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Fic contains spoilers for the Stargate: Universe ep Air

He’s zoning out and he knows he is. He should stop it but he doesn’t, simply allows his mind to wander where it will, just for a moment. It does that, these days. These days of not needing to be battlefield sharp.  Not battlefield sharp and softer round the middle. Daniel teases him about that sometimes. Puts hands on the padding, strokes and then smiles. Like he’s glad it’s there because it means he’s safe. He’s got this far and Daniel will wait as long as it takes.

Daniel’s always waiting.

Lieutenant General O’Neill is not standing here, waiting for Carter’s report from the Hammond. He’s not waiting on an update on the fate of the 80-plus souls from the Icarus base.

He’s back at the SGC, looking at images of Hank Boyd, dying by inches as he’s sucked into a black hole.

He’s clicking his radio with more force than necessary, saying, “Tell me _, tell me_ you’re not on that ship,” with his heart in his mouth and his ass in a sling.

He’s freezing cold and wet, sitting on the Gate ramp with one hand steadying Carter and pictures of Daniel being consumed by flames burning his eyes.

Loss and impending loss and imagined loss. The tragedy looks the same from any rank.

The difference then was that he could kick some ass where it mattered; pick up his P-90, splatter some Goa’uld brain across the floor and rage against the dying of the light in the only way that made any sense to him.

Here. Now. He waits.

Decisions he makes impact from a distance. He doesn’t feel the sonic boom of life or death in that moment and in that place. He aches for the days when he made split-second decisions for the good of his team. His people. Because that mattered. In that instant, his decision mattered above all else. And he was good at that. The best. None better.

His hands are clenched into fists. He’s waiting to act. And he doesn’t do waiting.

Daniel does, though.

Daniel is waiting for Jack to call it a day. He’s waiting until snatched weekends can become languid, loving, shared days, weeks and months. Jack doesn’t stretch to years because sometimes, _sometimes,_ the aches in his bones and fluttering in his chest make him think that years might be a hope too far.

“I could quit,” Jack said, into the dark one Washington night, the feel of Daniel’s head weighing heavily on his chest, his bare legs a delicious tangle beneath warm, sex-soaked sheets.

“You can’t. _We_ can’t. I can wait. Some things are worth waiting for. I’ll wait forever.”

Jack’s nails dig into his palms.

He hates this so much.

So _fucking_ much.

Waiting.

He zones back when contact is made with the Hammond.

Carter reports in.

And it all starts again.

And Daniel is still waiting.

 

ends


End file.
